Defenseless
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: He was alone, his weapon was back at the campsite, and he had let his guard down. If only... Ah, but it was way too late for that. Movieverse.


Disclaimer: _The Hobbit_, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate, and Warner Brothers, New Line Cinema, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and WingNut Films.

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Defenseless

Perhaps it could be chalked up to the fatigue, unconsciously letting his guard down after the draining adventure with the goblins and Azog. Maybe the soothing effect of the bubbling stream was at fault. Or unintentionally he had leaned too much on those optimistic words – _I do believe the worst is behind us _– and the wizard's tantalizing offered hope of shelter, rest, _safety_. Blame definitely rested to some degree on the facts that he had come alone, his mattock was not on his person but back at the campsite, and the very foolish (fatal) instant he reached up to adjust his floppy hat.

All Bofur knew was one second he was sighing happily at the thought of a bath in the stream (no matter that it would be quite cold). There was no warning as in the next moment he was sent crashing, head over heels, to the ground, and the wind knocked out of him.

Shocked, he struggled to make sense of the blurriness and confusion, unsuccessfully fighting to fill his lungs with air. Everything ground to a standstill, his heartbeat pounding in his ears when the dwarf struggled to sit up and discovered the leering orc charging at him, sword raised to deliver the death blow. There was no time to act, yell, or for thoughts of _if only_. Just time for a futile attempt at protecting himself by raising his arms above his head. Bifur, Bombur, Thorin, Bilbo, Nori…all the faces of his family and companions flashed behind his eyelids at lightning speed. _Goodbye._

"_ARGHA!_"

The unexpected, close, almost animal-like yell caused Bofur's eyes to pop back open and the orc to stumble to a halt. The blur of some sort of creature raced past the dazed the miner and leapt at the orc. Both toppled over with loud shouts. They were a blend of colors, blades, and limbs to Bofur as he quickly got to his knees, eyes darting around frantically for something, _anything_ to use as a weapon.

A high-pitched, pained scream pierced the air, making the ends of the dwarf's curled moustache bristle, only to abruptly cut off.

The sudden hush was nearly unsettling. Bofur scrambled to his feet, breath coming fast and short, warily backing away from the now still bodies. Then one of them moved. The toymaker's jaw went slack and his eyes widened like an owl's as Bilbo Baggins untangled himself from the orc, unsteadily get to his feet, and yanked his blade out of the body. Covered in blood and dirt, the hobbit panted heavily, his eyes fiery, teeth gnashing, and expression murderous.

Never would Bofur have suspected of ever seeing the company's burglar in such a state. He watched with awe as Master Baggins' look shifted to disgust, examining his bloodied weapon before wiping it clean in the grass. The dwarf nearly chuckled when Bilbo threw a final scowl down at the dead orc and kicked it hard.

Then the hobbit turned and faced the dwarf. They studied each other for a long moment. Bofur's gloved hands twitched nervously as the silence lengthened and fire lingered in Bilbo's eyes as he frowned.

"Bofur!"

That broke the tension. Silently the dwarf came forward to meet the hobbit. Up close he looked the worse for wear. Yet alive. That was the important thing. Bofur came back to the present at the feel of Bilbo's hands fluttering over him, searching for injuries.

"Oh, Bofur! Are you alright?" the hobbit asked, concern and protectiveness now swirling in his green eyes as they regarded the dwarf.

"Aye. I'm fine laddie," Bofur replied with his old cheer, offering a reassuring smile. "No need for yer fretting." Pausing, his eyes narrowed. "Though..._what_ were ye thinking, Bilbo?! Ye could have been killed!" he exclaimed. The realization that things could have turned out so differently crashed over him. "If ye had died, where would the company be without our burglar?" he demanded, reaching out for the hobbit.

Bilbo lightly slapped his hands away and set his own fists on his hips with a loud huff.

"And where would the rest of us be if _you_ had been killed, Bofur?" he asked shortly. "Should I have just sat back and watched my friend die? Running for help...it would have been too late! I had to do something."

Bofur's answering smile was bittersweet, his shrug light, nonchalant. "'Tis part of the risk of this quest. Ye and I know that. In any event, ye all would carry on. I'm just a simple miner, after all," he said quietly around the lump in his throat, staring at Bilbo's furry feet.

A sharp intake of breath caused Bofur's gaze to jump up to the hobbit and be confronted with his quivering lips, pale cheeks, and wet eyes.

He shook his head firmly. "You mean _much more_ than that to us, Bofur," Bilbo's voice trembled.

The dwarf swallowed thickly, the hobbit's words and fierce tone warming him from the inside out. Sighing deeply, the remnants of his shock, frustration, and fear from all of the excitement disappeared. Bofur straightened to his full height and graced Bilbo with a thankful smile.

"Ye saved my life, little one. I am indebted to ye."

Bofur's smile grew as the hobbit sputtered and blushed to the tips of his ears and laughed weakly.

"No-o-o need, really. Truthfully, I was scared to death," he confessed, swiftly brushing his hands over his cheeks. "I am just glad you are alright."

The dwarf stepped closer, carefully placed a large hand on the back of the curly-haired hobbit's head, and gently drew him forward until their foreheads touched. He felt the smaller creature still in surprise.

"Bofur." He frowned quizzically up at the dwarf after he pulled back some and met his gaze. "What was that?"

"A thank ye."

"But…," he trailed off, uncertain.

Ah. Bofur had seen the lad conversing with Balin recently, exchanging questions and explanations about their respective cultures. Undoubtedly the old dwarf had enlightened the hobbit about that aspect of dwarven custom.

"I am indebted to ye," the dwarf explained, "and in the face of such bravery, I would call ye shield-brother, and braid yer hair with the braid of the Ur family."

"_Family?_" Bilbo whispered, gapping.

The toymaker's smile was kind and fond. "Aye."

"It has been a long time since I've had a real family," the hobbit said slowly, tone wistful.

"Is that a yes, little one?" Bofur asked hopefully.

Slowly a wide smile spread across Bilbo's face. "It is," he replied, then laughed when he was caught up in a tight hug and spun in a circle. Returning the hug, he now felt he was home.

THE END


End file.
